


Ut Reperio Sol Solis

by RowWithAChipNPin



Series: Our Broken Lives 'Verse [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Automail, Awkwardness, Brothers, Developing Relationship, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Het and Slash, Living Together, M/M, Making Out, New Year's Resolutions, Rehabilitation, Reunions, Sequel, all grown up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 14:56:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/868825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowWithAChipNPin/pseuds/RowWithAChipNPin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ut Reperio Sol Solis (To Find The Sun)</p><p>Ed is back in Amestris after five years lost, and it's time for him to face the brother he left behind. With his relationship with Roy Mustang still unsure and memories of the Other Side still threatening to break him, Ed will have to make a life-changing choice as the new years approaches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rejection

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Arduus Ad Solem

Roy watched as Ed hurried back and forth across the room, occasionally tossing something into the open bag on the floor. The blond muttered to himself under his breath, counting things off his check list as he went. Roy shook his head in amusement and chuckled. Ed froze and whirled around, scowling.

"What's so funny!" he demanded, and he just looked so cute standing there with his arm crossed over his chest and his lower lip jutting out like that that Roy couldn't help but laugh harder.

Eyes flashing, Ed huffed and turned back to his work. Finally, after weeks of recovery, he was going to Winry's shop to get his arm and leg fixed. Even though she'd moved to Central for better business and to give Al a place to stay, Ed was planning on being gone at least two weeks, if not longer. As he'd told Roy over breakfast: "This isn't just getting repairs, you know. I have to get a whole new arm port and everything. The rehab's gonna be brutal." He'd be staying with Winry until he could function without help.

After that…Roy didn't want to think about that. When Ed had his automail back, would he still want to stay with him? When he no longer needed Roy's help, would he have a reason to stay? Or would he go back to traveling with his brother? There wouldn't be a reason for Ed to keep living with him when he didn't need to, and Roy dreaded the day when his house went back to being the dark, lonely place it used to be.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when his field of vision was filled with a pair of golden eyes. He blinked and straightened, pulling back until Ed's entire face came into focus instead of just his eyes. The blond peered at him, looking annoyed.

"Hey, what crawled up your butt and died, Roy-boy?" he asked, planting himself in front of Roy. He had almost completely recovered, and it was clear that the years had been good to him. He'd been a striking teen on the rare occasions he'd calmed down, and now, he was an absolutely breathtaking young man. This new Edward, the one who'd come back to them, to him, was no longer the brash, volatile, fervent teenager Roy had known. It was getting easier to reconcile this good-humored, calmer Ed with the old one; still, Roy wondered when Ed had become so lonely, forlorn, and full of sorrow…and so beautiful.

**XXXXXX**

The past few days had been chaotic as they'd tried to figure out how things would go on. When they'd returned to Roy's house after Ed's bandages had been removed for good, things between them had been different. They'd made out at the hospital—they couldn't forget that—but they hadn't known how to go from there. Roy would have been plenty happy to pick up where they'd left off at the hospital, but he knew that Ed wasn't ready. Ed was still mourning the loss of the life he'd built for himself on the Other Side. He was still mourning the loss of his life with Alfons, and Roy knew that it was too soon for anything to happen between them. He could and would wait until Ed was ready for something more, if that meant they _did_ have a chance.

He ruffled Ed's hair, laughing at the indignant squeak. "Nothing, Ed. Just thinking."

But that didn't mean he had to like it.

Ed scowled and poked Roy in the shoulder. "Bullshit," he said bluntly. Eyes sparkling, he plopped himself in Roy's lap and, grinning, pressed open-mouthed kisses to the Fuhrer's jaw. "Tell me the truth," he murmured against pale skin, pressing his hand against Roy's chest.

Roy shuddered, struggling to reign in his responses. Now this was just cheating. Roy was seriously fighting the urge to bend the young alchemist over the bed and take him right then with no preamble. How the hell was he supposed to respect Ed's virtue—or whatever passed for it—when the blond was making himself so damn tempting? He groaned as Ed gently nipped his jugular; damn Ed for playing dirty. Roy was vaguely curious about where the hell Ed had learned to seduce like this, then decided he didn't want to know, not really.

Ed must have sensed Roy's discomfort, because he shifted his position and threw a leg over Roy's, straddling the older man. He drew him into a rough kiss, and out of instinct, Roy's arms wrapped around the young man in his lap. This was the first time they'd kissed since the hospital, and three days of pent up frustration and worry leaked through. Ed's hand buried itself in dark hair; their tongues danced for dominance; Roy let himself fall backwards against the bed, Ed tumbling down with him, and for the life of him, he couldn't remember why this was a bad idea.

Until Ed ground against him and his eyes snapped open. The reality of what was going on hit him full force as jolts of pleasure ran through him, and with _extreme_ difficulty, he pushed Ed away. "No," he gasped, jumping up from the bed before Ed could straddle him again. Ed growled, looking thoroughly disappointed; the bulge in his pants agreed with him, and Roy was feeling the loss too. If the circumstances had been different, if he'd been a little less determined, he knew that Ed's trip would have been postponed indefinitely while he pounded the blond into the bed until he couldn't walk without a limp.

He shook his head, trying to clear away the lust and arousal. It didn't work. "No," he said a little more forcefully. "Not like this."

He turned his back on the blond and went to take a nice cold shower, leaving an incredulous Ed sitting on the bed to take care of his own little problem. By the time Ed came down with his bag, Roy was trying to work his way through a stack of paperwork due first thing next day; he was also trying to avoid the acidic glower of his housemate/tenant/sort-of-maybe-potential-lover(?) drilling into the back of his head.

_Cricket._

_Cricket._

_Cricket._

Roy's pen stilled on the paper as Ed finally sighed and asked, "What the hell just happened? I thought…after the hospital…I thought you wanted me." His voice had lost its annoyed ring, replaced with confusion and self-doubt.

Roy turned in his chair and winced—what a guilt trip. Ed was standing at the bottom of the stairs, somehow managing to look offended, hurt, and confused at the same time. He stood and approached him, ruffling the blond hair fondly. "Hey, don't give me that look," he teased, "it's your own damn fault for trying to seduce me like that. You were setting yourself up for that."

Edward glared up at him, but it didn't reach his eyes. Deciding to take pity on him, Roy dropped a kiss on the blond's forehead and chuckled.

"Believe me, I want you so much it hurts, but I already made up my mind: I won't sleep with you until you've had a chance to consider everything. There are so many reasons why this is wrong, but for the life of me, I can't make myself care. Maybe you can. Go get your automail fixed up, and go get caught up with your little brother, Ed. If you choose to come back after you've thought it over, if you still want to be together, then we'll see where we go from there, okay?"

Ed sighed and closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he seemed to have resigned himself to go along with it. "Yeah," he said, "okay."


	2. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Ed to face his little brother and the wrath of Winry Rockbell.

**ROCKBELL AUTOMAIL**

Ed stared up at the sign, a feeling of dread hanging over him like his own personal raincloud, and he pulled his coat closer against the cold; winter was at its peak in Central, with New Years' fast approaching. This hadn't seemed so daunting when he and Roy had talked about it, and when Havoc had given him a life to the shop, he hadn't been worried at all. But now, standing outside Winry's store on the crowded sidewalk in the snow, he couldn't get over the feeling that he should rethink this.

It had been five years since he'd last seen her; five years without a word from him. He had no clue how she'd react—he was guessing she'd start throwing wrenches at him and call him names, just like she used to, but he didn't know how things had changed. Roy hadn't known much about what she'd been up to, only that she'd gone back to Resembool for a vacation just in time for him to come crashing back into Amestris and had gotten back shortly before his bandages had been removed for good. Hopefully, everyone had kept their mouths shut like he'd asked them to, but he was worried that maybe someone had let it slip he'd come back. Winry would be so pissed when she found out how long he'd been home without telling her.

Then there was the matter of Al. _Oh, Alphonse._ Five years without his little brother had been brutal. They'd always done everything together, and it had hurt like nothing he'd experienced before when he'd had to start a new life without him. Alfons Heiderich had been good to him, but he hadn't been Ed's Al, no matter how similar they looked. How would Al react when he learned that Ed had been in Central for almost three months without telling him? And not just not telling him, but specifically asking everyone to keep it a secret. Al had called Roy about two weeks after Ed had starting staying with him, ranting about how he had his memories back, Ed must be back, you have to help me, what do you know about his whereabouts? Ed knew that Al had called everyone he knew in Central and asked the same questions, and on his request, no one had told him the truth. Ed felt like shit for lying to his brother, even by omission, and the disapproving looks he kept getting from Hawkeye didn't help, but he had his reasons. He'd wanted to heal on his own before facing the brother he'd abandoned.

Another thing was that he wasn't sure how he felt about Al's relationship with Winry. Sure, he was glad Al and Winry had found someone, and no, he wasn't surprised it had been each other. Still, the three of them had grown up together, and Ed had always figured that Winry considered Al her brother, and vice versa. The guys—Havoc, Fury, Breda, and Falman—had all been convinced that Ed and Winry had been involved, and if not Winry then certainly Rose, and apparently, someone had lost a lot of money when they learned that Ed was gay and had never (and never would be) interested in women.

He sucked in a breath and put a foot on the stairs, swallowing the lump in his throat. He told himself to stop being such a coward, it was just Winry, and the sooner he got it over with the better. Telling himself that it was either face Winry or face Pinako, he sucked it up and shouldered open the door; this was the lesser of two evils. An annoying little bell rang, and he scowled; he'd always hated that. A cheerful voice called from somewhere behind the counter, "Be right there!"

While he was waiting, and counting down the seconds to Doomsday, he looked around the shop. It was small, but then he was sure she had more rooms in the back, and the shop was crammed with chunks of metal and tangled wires, and more stuff he was sure he couldn't name; he recognized a few pieces from his work with rockets, but for the most part, it was as alien as ever. The counter was polished, and showcased some examples of her work behind a sheet of glass. He whistled; she'd gotten better. There was a picture of the three of them—Winry, Al, and himself—hanging on the wall alone with others: a photo of Winry, Sheska, Gracia, and Elicia; Pinako and Den; Al and Ed, taken during one of their trips to Resembool for repairs. He could see a flight of stairs through the doorway into the back, leading up to the apartment above the shop that she shared with Al.

He smiled with nostalgia. The three of them looked so happy in the picture, so innocent. The ones in the picture had no idea what was coming. Oh sure, Photo-Ed was a dog of the military, and oh sure, Photo-Al was a seven foot suit of armor, but for them, life had yet to take a turn for the nightmarish. How things had changed so quickly, Ed would never know.

_CRASH!_

He looked towards the noise. Somehow, Winry had come in when he was busy reminiscing, and she'd dropped the box of parts she'd been carrying. She stood there, frozen, her expression caught between shock and disbelief. She'd definitely finished growing into the beautiful young woman she was, and he stopped himself from smirking. _Way to go Al._ Slowly, as if scared he'd disappear again, she approached him, until she was standing only a foot away. She looked him up and down, and he didn't blame her for the alarm.

"…Ed?" she finally managed to ask, her voice small and scared.

He dropped his bag on the floor at his feet. "Hey, Winry. Nice shop you've g—" _SMACK!_ Pain exploded in the side of his face, but he didn't lift his hand to the red mark. She'd had every right and more to slap him; if she hadn't been a lady, he would've done the same thing if their positions were switched. That was another thing Alfons had drilled into his skull: you treat a lady like fine china unless told otherwise, and you never raise a hand against one.

"ALPHONSE!" she hollered, "GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!"

Ed swallowed as he heard a crash upstairs followed by the thunder of footsteps pounding against the floor; apparently, and predictably, Winry wore the pants in this relationship.

This was going to be fun…not.

His eyes widened when Al reached the bottom of the steps. Dark blond instead of platinum, amber eyes instead of blue, tan instead of pale—the differences between Alphonse and Alfons were clear, and that had been why Ed could think of them as different people. He was dressed just like Ed used to, in the black leather and the red coat with the Flamel signal on the back. The way Al was gaping back, Ed figured he was doing the same thing, and sanity knows that he'd changed almost as much as his little brother. His hair was shorter, much shorter, and he himself was taller—he was a little taller than Winry now, something he would take great glee in at a later date. His features were sharper, and on more than one occasion, he'd been told how he resembled Van Hohenheim.

He grinned weakly. "Hey, Al. Lookin' good. Glad to see all our hard work paid off, huh?"

His attempt at breaking the tension didn't work, and his smile quickly dropped off his face. He sighed, running his human hand through his hair. "Just get over here and give me a hug, you dummy."

That was the right thing to say, because the next thing he knew, Al had bounded across the room and thrown his arms around Ed, pressing his face into Ed's shoulder as his own started to shake with suppressed sobs. Ed wrapped his good arm around his brother and held him tight. After a moment, he felt another pair of arms wrap around them both, and together, the triad sank to the floor.

_Alphonse…I'm back, for good this time._

He buried his nose in Al's hair and smiled, holding his brother in his arms—holding his _human_ brother in his arms—as Winry cried into his shoulder.

"I'm back."


	3. Rememberance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the nightmares return and Ed struggles with telling Al the truth.

_Blood sprays from his lips as the soldier's heavy boot slams into his stomach; he winces as at least one rib gave. The hand across his face is a shock to his system, too much to deal with before the back of his head collides with the brick wall. He clenches his jaw to stifle the yelp. Spots dance across his vision, fireworks of agony going off behind his eyes and in his brain. It's a never-ending circle of pain and beatings, of vicious kicks, punches, and blows. He topples forwards, curling in on himself; this is the wrong move. Red-hot agony resonates through his back, and he feels warm blood trickle down his back from open wounds. A fist clenches his braid in a tight, merciless grip, and he's dragged upright before being slammed into the wall, hard; his teeth clacked together and he cried out._

_"Please…" The whimper comes out barely audible, a single, shaky word passing his bloodied lips; he hates himself for begging, hates it with all his being. The hits just keep on coming, though—punching, kicking, slapping, more punching, more kicking, repeat, repeat, repeatrepeatrepeat. His bones creak under the abuse, and a rebellious cry escapes, earning him an extra hard slap across the face. Blood explodes in his mouth; he can feel the metallic liquid coating his tongue._

_How long would this last before they left him to lick his wounds like a wounded dog?_

_How long had this been going on? He didn't know, it had all blended together into one long, endless series of blows and kicks._

_Ruthless hands on his skin, holding him down and covering his mouth, holding back his screams and smothering him. Fists leave blue and black bruises, sharp nails break skin; every nerve is on fire. Ribs break under merciless attacks; taunts and harsh words echo in his ears, repeating, growing louder and louder until they drown out all else. He can feel it in his bones, in his very core._

_Something inside his mind snaps, and he screams. He screams as he sinks to the floor, his world dissolving in a whirlpool of pain and darkness, black and red, black and red, round and round._

He bolted up in bed, a scream ripping past his lips, human hand immediately clutching his chest. His chest heaved with labored breath, and his bangs were plastered to his forehead with sweat; he felt unusually hot despite the chilly room. Where was he? This wasn't the cell! He lifted a trembling hand to wipe his face; it came away wet with tears. He could still feel the blows, his body shaking with phantom pains…and— _oww_ —real, actual pain that wasn't in his head. Crying out and clutching his bandaged shoulder, he fell back against the bed, curling up on his good side. He swore he could still feel the blood dripping down his back, and he was shaking despite the heat.

Slowly, his breathing slowed to normal as his memories caught up with him. He wasn't in the camp anymore, he was in Central, back in Amestris; he was in the apartment above Winry's automail shop. He was safe…he was safe…he was safe. So, if he knew he was safe, why was he still scared? If he knew he was in Winry's apartment, why did he feel so alone? If the blanket was so warm, why was he so cold?

He knew why, but he wasn't quite ready to admit it, not even to himself. He couldn't. He'd been down that road before and paid the price. If there was an award for stupid choices, he'd surely already won it, and unless he was prepared to get his heart broken and cry his heart out, he had to be sure this time. He had to be sure if he was willing to face the consequences for a brief, frantic, rushed relationship that, with so much against it, would burn bright and fast, extinguished before they knew it. Was it worth being hurt like that again just for a chance with Mustang?

Because he didn't know if he could survive getting his heart broken again.

**XXXXXX**

He lay there for a while, staring up at a discolored, pockmarked ceiling, counting the watermarks and the various spots to pass time. His arm was on fire, but at least he had his automail leg back. He groaned and sat up, blinking against the light coming in through the window. Looking around, he examined the room; he was lying on the bed in a small room that had one window looking out over the street. The bureau, desk, and even floor were all cluttered with papers covered in alchemic arrays and equations; precarious stacks of books were everywhere, leaning like the Tower of Pisa, ready to fall over at the slightest provocation.

His heart twinged; it reminded him of his room back in Munich.

He stood up, shaky on his new leg, and tested his weight. It felt good to have automail again. The prosthetics Hohenhiem had made him were good, but just not the same as Winry's work. He found his clothes folded on the desk, and getting dressed was a trying task. He was sore and still weak from the operation, and his movements were sluggish and difficult. Trying not to show the discomfort, he pushed open the door and stepped into the main room.

Al looked up from his book as his brother came in, and he grinned. "Brother! You're awake. We were starting to get worried about you," he said.

Ed shrugged with his good shoulder. "I've been better, but I'm glad to have my leg back. Where's Winry?"

"Oh, she went to get breakfast from that café down the street," Al explained happily, "she'll be back soon."

Ed plopped down in the seat across from Al. "Good, I'm starving." He wasn't actually that hungry, but he hoped that if they dwelled on the mundane, they could avoid the complicated. No such luck.

"You know, Ed, I was starting to think I'd never see you again," Al said softly, not looking at him. Ed sighed.

"Yeah, I know how you feel," he said. "Don't ask me what happened over there, Al, because I won't tell you. All I'll say is that that world isn't so different from ours. The technology is different, and no one has the first clue about alchemy, but people are always the same. They're afraid of anyone different from them, and they start wars for stupid, silly, asinine reasons. I just…I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I paid for it. That's all." He looked down at his clenched hand on the table and blinked back hot tears. He wouldn't cry in front of Al, never in front of Al.

Al closed his mouth, apparently taking this warning to heart, and nodded. "Alright. Then why don't you tell me about the other world. What did you call it…Germany?"

Ed swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded, looking up at his brother with a forced smile on his face. He launched into an explanation of the last five years, but this time, he glossed over it. When he'd told Roy, he'd told him everything; _almost everything,_ a snide little Voice in his head whispered. But he could tell Roy things he could never tell Al. How could he tell Al that he'd been beaten, starved, and almost killed because of alchemy? How could he tell Al that he'd been sleeping with Al's double? How could he tell Al that Envy was their brother, and by extension, the homunculi their nieces and nephews? How could he tell Al that the reason he'd been stabbed in the Underground was because he couldn't punch Envy when he was wearing Roy's face?

How could he possibly tell Al that the reason they could do alchemy in the first place was because they fed off the dead souls of the Other Side's deceased?

How could he?


	4. Recountal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ed makes progress, Al is perceptive, stories are told and choices are made.

Roy had offered to come with him to get his automail—he must had remembered how painful it was for the younger alchemist—but Ed had brushed the offer aside. He wanted as few people to see him like that as possible. Roy had all seen him at his worst, and he'd been Ed's rock over the past few months, but Ed wanted to keep what little pride he had left. He didn't want Roy to see him like that, writhing on Winry's table, so helpless, so broken.

The automail hurt more and longer than Ed remembered, and not for the first time, Ed cursed his metal limbs up and down. Apparently, he'd passed out from the pain during the implant of the new port; he'd slept for three days before the nightmare woke him. It took another four days before Winry would even consider giving him his automail arm back, and that was just as painful as he recalled. Rehabilitation—picking things up, holding something without dropping it, being able to support his weight, fine motor functions like drawing and writing—took another week, and it was a painstaking, slow process that drove him up the wall.

Still, the effort and persistence paid off, because soon enough…

"Ah!" Ed sighed, stretching. Finally, after more than two weeks of aching, there was no pain when he tested his joints to their limits, and he realized that for the first time since coming back to Amestris, he felt like himself again. Different, yes, but more like the person he'd been once upon a dream.

Al laughed, grinning at his brother. Over the past two weeks and a half, it had been getting to know each other all over again. Al was still trying to sort through his newly returned memories and get his head straightened out, and Ed was trying desperately to remember the times when he hadn't felt like he was outside looking in. Still, the more time Ed and Al spent together, the more they realized they'd adjusted to being without each other for so long; it was hard to be together all the time. It wasn't that their relationship was any less important to either of them, it was just maturing.

Al knew that Ed was keeping things from him, and he hated that, but he also knew that whatever it was, Brother had a good reason to keep it to himself. He'd spent five years determined to learn anything and everything he could about alchemy, hoping that if he learned enough, he could be with Brother again.

Now he had his brother and his memories back, and if Ed wanted to keep something to himself, then Al wasn't going to push for details.

"You're doing well, Ed," Al said, watching from over his book. Ed grinned and shrugged before letting himself fall forward, catching himself and going straight into push-ups. "Yeah, I guess so," Ed huffed, blowing blond strands out of his eyes. One downside to short hair, he couldn't tie it back into a ponytail to keep it out of his face. "At least I'm not falling on my face anymore."

True—when he'd started attempting push-ups, his automail hadn't been able to support him at first. He'd breathed in carpet fibers more often that he'd have liked. He and Al had been going to the park around the corner for a few days for sparring sessions, and Ed was pleased with the way things were going; he hadn't beaten Al yet, but he was holding his own. Another thing that made him happy was the figure Ed had spotted on more than one occasion out of the corner of his eye. It was only brief flashes of a blue uniform and a long dark coat, but that was enough.

"Hey, what are you so happy about?" Al asked, and Ed realized that he'd started smiling unconsciously. He rocked back into a sitting position and looked up at Al. "Whaddya mean?" he asked, pretending he didn't know. Oh, he knew why, and he wasn't the one freaking out about it.

Al gave him a look, and Ed tried to look sheepish; it didn't work. "You _know_ what I mean, Edward," Al said, "what's on your mind? Tell me."

Ed sighed and fell back against the carpet, staring up at the ceiling and the rickety fan turning in lazy, creaking circles above them. He wasn't sure he was ready for this conversation. He could lie, but Al would call him on it this time. Still…he was confused, so confused, and back when they were sifting through mountains of alchemy, trying to decode the secrets of the Philosopher's Stone, talking it out with Al always seemed to make it understandable.

And Lord knows he needed some clarity in his head right now. He sighed again, this time with acceptance, and said, "I need some advice."

He almost groaned at the eager expression on his brother's real, human face. "Oh, _really?_ Who's the lucky guy?" Al had been the only one who'd known Ed hadn't been interested in girls back when they were running all over Amestris looking for leads; Winry had probably suspected, but they'd never actually told her. It wasn't that he'd been hiding it—honestly he hadn't and still didn't care who knew—but it just hadn't been something he advertised. He hadn't thought it mattered; it wasn't like he'd been looking for a boyfriend.

But now…well, now there was someone maybe worth taking a chance on.

**XXXXXX**

"C'mon, tell me!" Al insisted, plopping down next to Ed and poking him in the side. Ed scowled at him, but it was only half-heartedly. He and Al stared each other down for a few moments before Ed caved. "Alright, alright!" He sighed, bracing himself for the blowback.

Sure, Al had always been open-minded and accepting of damn near everybody, but would the same principles apply when Ed's love interest was a man more than ten years his senior? Then there was the fact that Mustang had been his superior officer for years, and the fact that up until a few months ago, they could barely stand to be in the same city without arguing. Mustang had been their legal guardian after Ed joined the State Alchemists (apparently the military liked to keep things internal), the Flame Alchemist was now the _Fuhrer_ of Amestris and General of the military. The press would have a field day once they got wind of it, and though he was no longer a State Alchemist, he had been once upon a time.

But despite all those reasons, despite everything riding against it, Ed couldn't stop thinking about Roy. He couldn't stop thinking about how easy it was between them, like a puzzle. Not that old cliché about finally finding the last piece, but now the jumbled pieces that had been tossed around his entire life were making sense. He drowned in that dark, knowing eye, wanted to bury his hands in that soft, raven black hair, and fall into Roy's warm, inviting, comfortable embrace and stay there forever. Whenever they were touching, he got the shakes and shivers, and he couldn't think straight. Whenever they were alone, he was walking on air, his heart stuttering in his chest and his adrenaline running high. It was like the best drug ever, and Ed knew that if he let himself become addicted— _too late for that,_ the Voice reminded him—he would never be the same. If they broke up, if Roy broke his heart, or if, God forbid, he hurt Roy, he would never recover. Roy had left his marks on him and no one would ever be able to replace him.

And this was what he told Al, laying there on the carpet amid stacks of books and scattered papers. He closed his eyes as he spoke, letting memories flash before his eyes. The scene in the hospital, Roy's lips pressed against his own in a sweet, chaste kiss; Roy shouting at him in Resembool after the Philosopher's Stone was made in Leore, demanding to know why Ed hadn't trusted him enough to ask him for help before running. The first time he witnessed the Flame Alchemist at work, charcoaling the train jacker in East City; Roy sliding into bed with him and pulling him tight against his chest, murmuring reassurances and holding him until he fell asleep.

He opened his eyes to glower at Al, annoyed that his brother was laughing at him. "It isn't funny," he muttered. "I have no clue what to do next."

Al clapped his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle his laughter, but even when he managed to stop giggling, his eyes did it for him. "A-Alright!" He cleared his throat. "Alright," he repeated. "What's the problem? You like him, he likes you—" Al paused, studying him. "He _does_ like you too, right?"

Ed growled low in his throat. That was all the answer Al needed, and he hastily pressed on. "So, what's there for you to be confused about. If you both want to be more than friends, try it. See where it goes. Maybe it won't go anywhere; maybe you'll both end up with broken hearts. Or, on the other hand, you might find true love. Honestly," Al said, "you two seem perfect for each other. I'm not at all surprised."

Ed sat up, looking at his brother suspiciously. What, exactly, did he mean by _that_?

"What do you mean, 'perfect for each other'? Until I vanished into thin air, we hated each other, you know that."

That wasn't entirely true. In retrospect, Ed was seeing his past in a whole new light. He realized that the things that had annoyed him back then weren't as bad as he'd thought. Everything Roy had done—sending them off on seemingly pointless assignments, manipulating them, _lying_ to them and keeping secrets—had been for their own good. For alchemy's sake, Mustang had chased him all the way to Resembool because he wanted to protect and help him, not to punish him and not because the military had ordered him to.

Al grinning and tugged playfully at a chunk of Ed's hair; he'd informed Ed shortly after he'd been able to move around on his own that he liked the short hair—it suited Ed. "You and Roy are made for each other, anyone could see that. What you need in a lover is someone who trusts you and has no problem with you being so independent but would follow you to the end of the world and back. They have to be someone who's gotten around enough to not get jealous of the attention you get, and you need someone you can bicker and argue with who won't take it to heart; you need someone to keep you grounded and who won't let you get away with any shit."

He paused letting that sink in, before saying, "Ed, don't be an idiot. Roy's your guy; he's exactly what you need. Go for it, take a chance, and see what happens. So what if you guys screw things up and end up hating each other? It'll just give you something else to scream about."

Ed sighed and smiled weakly. "Yeah, you're probably right. But…" he trailed off.

_But_ what? This was exactly what Roy had told him to do: think it over and decide if this was what he really wanted. There were a million reasons why getting involved would be a bad idea, but Ed really couldn't make himself give a damn. All he could think of was that he wanted Mustang, wanted him so badly it hurt, and he couldn't imagine life without him. The thought of living with Roy, waking up in his arms, fully exploiting the vast library…being thoroughly debauched by the Flame Alchemist; it sounded like heaven to him, a paradise of their own making. The age difference didn't bother him, nor did the fact they were both men; hell, even back in Germany where homosexuality could be a criminal offense, Alfons had been the worried one. He didn't care that Roy had been his superior officer; he wasn't a State Alchemist anymore, and he wasn't a dog of the military—he'd escaped his leash.

There was nothing stopping him from pursing a relationship with Roy Mustang.

Al nudged him in the leg with his foot, and Ed shook his head, coming back to Earth. "'But' what, Ed?" he prodded, looking at Ed expectantly.

Ed was at a fork in the road, the crossroads. One road led to a relationship with Mustang and possibly/probably heartbreak, the other led to an uncertain future and never knowing what could have been. It was time to choose a path.

Ed nodded and looked his brother in the eyes. "I think I know what to do."

He had a choice to make, so he did.


	5. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ed and Roy are reunited and a relationship moves forwards.
> 
> Also, whiskey.

Roy thanked Hawkeye for the ride and stepped out of the car. Tomorrow was New Years' Eve and he'd given the team a week off to spend with families and loved ones; the crew had managed to talk him into letting them have a party at the office, and Hawkeye had promised him that if he didn't show up, her New Years' resolution would be being twice as hard on him.

He walked up the path and paused with the key in the front door. He turned and looked out across his front yard. A single stone sidewalk splitting the rectangle of grass speckled with dandelions enclosed in a fence of hedges; he was no gardener, and he didn't spend a lot of time out there. The only foliage was a single large tree, its branches drooping and providing the only shade in the lawn. The yard was a lot like Tucker's, which wasn't surprising; State Alchemists who chose to make their home in Central were given the same type of housing. Edward, who had never settled anywhere, didn't have a house in Central; as the boys' used to say, if they had no home to go back to, they couldn't turn back.

_Then again,_ the Voice said, _that's all in the past. Maybe this could be his home now._

It probably should have worried him that he'd started to agree with the Voice. He turned and entered the house—it wasn't a home, not since Ed had left almost three weeks ago. The house seemed empty and cold, bleaker than before Ed had begun his stay. It was as if the heart and soul of the house had been sucked out; its sun had been taken. The house had always been a bit too big, a bit too dark, a bit too lonely, but now, after knowing what it was like to share his household with another person, it was overwhelming.

For the past three weeks, he'd tried to spend as much time away from the house as possible, but unless he wanted to spend another night in the records' room and another day with a serious crick in his neck, he had to go back and face a cold, hollow house. He hung his hat and jacket on the coatrack, kicked off his shoes, and headed into the kitchen. It was another lonely night.

He grabbed the bottle of whiskey from the counter and headed upstairs to the library; he would spend a lonely night in a lonely house, but he refused to sleep in the cold, empty bed. He dropped into the leather chair and took of swig of the alcohol straight from the bottle—frack the glass. The moon shone through the window through the curtains, spilling silver light over the carpet and shelves. He could feel the warmth spreading through his veins; it was potent, fast-acting whiskey, the kind that could intoxicate a man in only a few drinks.

Roy sighed, tilting his head back. He used to spend so much time in the library, pouring over his books and cramming so much alchemy into his head he thought it might explode. How many nights had he spent in this chair, trying to get so drunk he couldn't remember his name, let alone the people he'd killed? He didn't even know. He took another long drink, welcoming the burn as it slid down his throat. If he could get drunk enough, then maybe he would forget how empty he felt.

How could he had been so stupid? He'd had the chance to bed Edward, to have the blond whirlwind for himself, and he'd blown it. He'd pushed him away and told Ed to get out until he'd thought it over. How bloody stupid! Edward had been more than willing, and he'd turned him down. Now, it was too late. Three weeks had gone by, and Roy knew that Ed was doing fine; he'd stopped and watched as the brothers sparred in the park near Winry's shop. Roy hadn't approached, though he'd been dying to; he'd respected Ed's wishes that he stay away during the rehabilitation.

He tossed back another mouthful, and scowled when it ran dry. No, he did _not_ need this! All he wanted was to get drunk out of his mind and forget how much his life sucked. Growling, he chucked the bottle at the door. With a crash muffled like it came from underwater, it shattered as it hit the solid oak, sending pieces of glass flying everywhere. A particularly sharp sliver ricocheted off a bookshelf and sliced open his cheek. He winced, but didn't wipe away the warm blood as it welled up and slid down his cheek.

He was too busy gaping at the young man who'd seemingly materialized in the doorway from nowhere. Ed stared alternatively at the shards of glass littering the carpet, glittering in the moonlight, and at Roy, slumped in his chair and drunk, staring back. Roy opened his mouth to say something, but when he tried, he found that the words wouldn't come; his tongue was heavy, thick, and too big for his mouth. Ed didn't have the same problem. He crossed the room, careful to sidestep the mess, and approached Roy.

He stood in front of Roy and, bracing himself against the desk, leaned forward to look the general in the eye. "You're drunk." It wasn't a statement or a question, just two simple words. He shook his head, his lips upturning in a soft smile. "You let me down, Mustang. I thought you were strong."

He pecked Roy on the lips, pulling back before the drunken alchemist could kiss back. Instead, he slid an arm—an automail arm, Roy's muddled brain noted—around the general and hauled him to his feet. "C'mon, Mustang, let's get you to bed. I'm not looking forward to dealing with the hangover in the morning, let's not make it any worse."

As they walked—well, stumbled, in Roy's case—down the stairs and towards the bedroom, Ed muttered about stupid bastard generals, whiskey, and hangovers. Somewhere in his head, Roy knew that he should be annoyed with Ed for talking to him like that, but it was drowned out by the sheer relief and affection he was feeling towards the blond. Everything about the younger man was in stark clarity to Roy—the way he smelled, the warmth of his body pressed against his, the soft blond hair brushing against the side of his face, the strength of the automail.

Three words were circling round and round in his head.

_He came back._

_He came back._

He came back.

**XXXXXX**

Roy Mustang noticed three things when he woke up: the first thing was that he had the mother of all headaches; two, his whole body ached; three, there was a strange, comfortable weight lying across his stomach. His muscles ached, his throat felt like it was on fire, his tongue was thick and fuzzy in his mouth, and he really, _really_ wanted to go back to sleep; he recognized this feeling, and he cursed himself for getting this drunk. He must have gotten into the hard liquor, probably that bottle of Xing whiskey infamous for knocking men silly with a few drinks.

Groaning, he rolled over and buried his face in his pillow, desperate to get back to sleep. Unfortunately, his body had other ideas, and he slowly found himself more and more aware of his surroundings. Which brought something very important to his attention: did his pillow always smell like oil and sulfur, and since when was it warm and solid like this? _Mmmm._ He silently purred, pushing up against the hand raking through his hair, and his memories from the previous night returned.

He cracked an eye and immediately regretted it; it felt like a thousand needles were being stabbed into his brain, and the hammer pounding behind his eyes multiplied. He yelped in a very un-Roy-like manner and closed his eyes, but it was too late and the damage was done; he could officially classify this as a hangover. The "pillow" shook as his bedmate chuckled.

"Mornin'," Ed said cheerfully—too damn cheerfully. "Learn your lesson?"

Roy groaned into the shaking chest, clutching the other man's shirt. For the love of Amestris, this was his least favorite part of his drinking binges.

"I can take that as a yes, then." Ed's voice was full of laughter and Roy could imagine the grin on the other's face.

He wrapped his arms around Ed's middle and nuzzled his sternum, grinning against the soft fabric and firm muscles. Ed's human fingers threaded themselves in Roy's black hair, and his metal hand found its way between his shoulder blades. They lay there together like that, relishing in the feeling of peace and being frozen in time together. Soon enough, they would have to face reality, but until then, they could enjoy the warmth and tranquility, the feeling of smooth fingers and soft breathing and having no worries.

Finally, Roy sighed and rolled over, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He groaned and stood up, stretching. "I hate hangovers," he said at last. Behind him, Ed chuckled as he lay on the bed, watching as Roy got dressed. "Yeah," Ed agreed, "they suck. Just be glad it was only whiskey, not Russian vodka."

Roy turned, eyebrow raised, as he buttoned up his shirt. "Russia?" Ed shrugged, and explained, "A huge country on the other side. I never visited there myself, but I knew someone who did. Man, I've never had a worse hangover, and I've been drunk plenty of times."

"Really?" asked Roy, "You as a drinker? I just can't see it."

Ed shrugged as he rolled out of bed, catching himself before he hit the ground. "Roy, I was trapped on a strange world, with dopplegangers of my friends and brother who weren't the same, with no way home. I spent more than a few nights drinking to remember."

The words themselves were heavy and serious, but he said them as if it didn't matter anymore. Roy didn't say a word as he watched Ed get dressed and run a hand through his hair instead of brushing it.

They headed downstairs together, neither speaking. Roy took care of breakfast while Ed made tea; that had become their routine, and it worked for them. Ed sang to himself softly in a language Roy didn't recognize.

_Die Gedanken sind frei, wer kann sie erraten,_  
sie fliegen vorbei wie nächtliche Schatten.  
Kein Mensch kann sie wissen, kein Jäger erschießen  
mit Pulver und Blei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Ich denke was ich will und was mich beglücket,  
doch alles in der Still', und wie es sich schicket.  
Mein Wunsch und Begehren kann niemand mir wehren,  
es bleibet dabei: Die Gedanken sind frei!

Roy turned to watch him as he sang, caught between being stunned by how beautiful he was and wanting to molest the blond. Ed's hips swayed as he sang, and he looked absolutely delectable as he poured the hot water over the tea bags and carried the cups over to the table. Roy followed with the food—bacon, eggs, pancakes. He'd decided that since it was Saturday and New Years' Eve, the two of them would have a real, traditional breakfast

"What is that—German?" Roy asked, looking over his shoulder at the blond. Ed nodded. "Yeah, it's a folk song called _Die Gedanken sind frei,_ meaning _the thoughts are free._ Heiderich taught it to me when I was learning German." He took a bite of eggs and downed it with a sip of tea.

Roy picked at his own food for a few seconds before he got up the courage to ask the question that had been on his mind. "Do you love him?"

Ed stared at him, golden eyes unreadable, as he set down his fork. "What?" Roy noticed that it was _what,_ not _who._ Edward knew _exactly_ whom he was talking about.

Roy didn't flinch at the intense look in Ed's eyes; he wasn't about to back down from this one, and in all honesty, the fire in the tequila eyes kind of turned him on. Roy had to know the truth; before anything else happened, he had to know. He thought he knew the answer, he was pretty damn sure he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear the words come from Ed's mouth.

"Alfons Heiderich. You were involved with him back on the Other Side; he was more than just your friend and companion. Do you love him?" He kept Ed's gaze, didn't let him look away.

They stayed like that, eyes locked and food forgotten, for who knows how long. Roy wasn't going to give Ed this one; he would give the blond anything else in his power, but not this. This one he wasn't going to surrender. Finally, Ed sighed and looked away. The blond stood up and walked around to Roy, and dropped himself in the Fuhrer's lap. He wrapped an arm around Roy's next and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

"Mustang," he said softly but steadily, "listen to me. I didn't want to tell you about Alfons because it was in the past. I'm not going to say it didn't matter; I'm not going to say that we were fuck buddies. He helped me survive a tough time when I thought I was going to kill myself out of grief. Yes, we slept together, and yes, I loved him."

He kissed Roy's jaw again. "Yes, I _still_ love him, but I am not _in love_ with him, and I don't think I ever was. He was there when I needed someone, and he made me smile when all I could see was the bad stuff. He helped me remember the times when I wasn't fighting for my life and when I wasn't drowning in guilt and pain. He helped me move on and grow up, and he taught me how to cook, and how to hold my own in a drinking contest."

He cracked a smile, eyes never leaving Roy's. "If we'd had more time together, if I hadn't been taken by those soldiers and found my way back here, then maybe I would have fallen for him. And I know that I'll always remember him and I will never forget what he taught me. But I have to get over him and move on, and I have a chance to have something with _you._ "

Ed pressed his hand against Roy's chest and pecked him on the lips just like he had the night before. He grinned, and Roy felt his breath leave his body. Ed looked so bright, so pure, it was easy to forget that he'd been lying on a hospital bed in critical condition less than two months ago. But Roy would never forget, and would never forgive the damage that had been done to his sun. If he ever had the chance to destroy the men who had hurt Ed, he would do it without a second thought.

"So," Roy said softly, slipping an arm around Ed's waist to pull him closer, "what do you plan on doing about it?"

Ed smiled impishly, and truly, with the short, spiky hair and his honey eyes, he did look like a creature straight from the pages of a children's book. Roy felt metal fingers playing cup the back of his head, and before he could think 'hallelujah,' Ed was kissing him. _Screw breakfast._ Roy considered himself a pretty good cook, but his flapjacks could _never_ compare to this.

Roy had dated girls before who had been content to let him take the lead, but this was a whole new ballgame; Ed was anything but compliant. Kissing Edward Elric was all tongue and fighting for dominance; it was struggling and biting, drowning in pleasure and enthusiasm. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced, and he hoped to insert-deity-of-your-choice-here that this was the first of many.

He wasn't sure if this was a dream or a hallucination, but to hell with it either way. He cupped the back of Ed's head and threaded his fingers in the silky golden hair; his other hand found its way under the white dress shirt and splayed itself against his bare back. Ed moaned against Roy's mouth and Mustang took the opportunity to nip sharply Ed's bottom lip. Ed gasped and arched into him, and this time, Roy didn't push him away; this time, he pulled him closer. He growled against the blond's mouth, and it wasn't a human growl—it was animalistic and possessive, and needy.

"Baby." Kiss.

_Moan._

"Baby." Lick.

_Gasp_.

" _Baby._ " Bite.

_Thrust._

Eventually, they had to come up for air. By the time they managed to stop acting like two hormonal teenagers, the food had gotten cold and the tea warm, and they were both painfully aroused. Ed scrambled backwards off Roy's lap, face burning with embarrassment; the general was a bit more composed, choosing to hide his own discomfort by cleaning up breakfast. He was putting the dishes in the sink when Roy broke the uneasy silence.

"Is this okay?" Ed whispered, as if speaking much louder would shatter the peace. Confused, Roy turned around and looked down at him. "Is what okay?"

Ed swallowed thickly, looking unsure and scared. He waved his hand between them. "This… Us," he clarified.

Roy kissed his forehead, hoping to assuage Ed's doubts. "Why wouldn't it be?" He looked into those beautiful, heart-rending golden eyes and took Ed's hands in his own.

Ed shrugged. "It's just…you're the Fuhrer, and I'm…me. Everyone watches what you do, and somehow, I doubt fooling around with me will win you any favors."

Roy's expression turned stormy, and he released Ed's hands only to grip his shoulders tightly; he was careful not to hurt Ed, and he almost backed off when Ed's eyes widened and his face paled, but he wanted—no, needed—Ed to hear this.

"I want to make this very clear, Edward," he growled, "however long this lasts or whatever happens, I am _not_ 'fooling around' with you. You need to understand that. I am entirely serious about us—about _you,_ Ed. I spent five years convincing myself that even though no one had seen or heard from you, not even your own brother, that you were still alive somewhere, somehow. It was like you took a piece of me when you left, and I couldn't get it back. It was like dying in a horribly slow way, losing a piece of myself every day. If that's not love, I don't know what is. Don't _ever_ say that I'm not serious, alright?"

Ed nodded, his face softening, and kissed Roy chastely. "I'm sorry, okay. It's just…" He shook his head. "Never mind." Before Roy could press the issue further, Ed kissed him again, this time lingering as he pressed against him, arms tangling around Roy's neck.

Roy's hands were warm and splayed against his sides, simply resting there, and his lips against Ed's in a simple kiss. Ed froze at the first touch, but Roy lifted his hand and brushed back a chunk of hair in a comforting, familiar gesture. All the tension melted out of the shorter man, his body relaxing against the other as his hands went to grip his shoulders. They parted from the gentle kiss and rested their foreheads against each other, breathing quietly.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to hold back the natural progression of time through the use of mutual comfort. Little by little, Ed's arms unwound from their protective embrace around his middle, and he shifted to stand up straighter. Roy didn't move, just adjusted his arms. He allowed his eyes to close, his thoughts drifting somewhere safe and warm, his body unconsciously tightening around the man he held almost defensively against his chest. He rested his cheek against the other's soft hair, breathing in his scent. It was a quiet moment that was their own, and they drew in the silence as a cloak to shield them from reality as long as they could. A silent understanding passed between them, and they started for Roy's—no, _their_ room, hands intertwined.

Tonight, they weren't the Fuhrer and the Fullmetal Alchemist. Tonight, they weren't a former colonel and his insubordinate subordinate. Tonight, they weren't Edward Elric, big brother and researcher, and Roy Mustang, heartbreaking playboy and leader of a nation. Tonight, they were Ed and Roy, and this moment belonged to them and them only. The rest of the world could suck it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter contains smut, which you can skip if you want. You don't NEED to read it for the end to make sense.


	6. Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author is a pervert

"Is this okay?" Ed whispered, as if speaking much louder would shatter the peace. Confused, Roy turned around and looked down at him. "Is what okay?"

Ed swallowed thickly, looking unsure and scared. He waved his hand between them. "This… Us," he clarified.

Roy kissed his forehead, hoping to assuage Ed's doubts. "Why wouldn't it be?" He looked into those beautiful, heart-rending golden eyes and took Ed's hands in his own.

Ed shrugged. "It's just…you're the Fuhrer, and I'm…me. Everyone watches what you do, and somehow, I doubt fooling around with me will win you any favors."

Roy's expression turned stormy, and he released Ed's hands only to grip his shoulders tightly; he was careful not to hurt Ed, and he almost backed off when Ed's eyes widened and his face paled, but he wanted—no, needed—Ed to hear this.

"I want to make this very clear, Edward," he growled, "however long this lasts or whatever happens, I am _not_ 'fooling around' with you. You need to understand that. I am entirely serious about us—about _you,_ Ed. I spent five years convincing myself that even though no one had seen or heard from you, not even your own brother, that you were still alive somewhere, somehow. It was like you took a piece of me when you left, and I couldn't get it back. It was like dying in a horribly slow way, losing a piece of myself every day. If that's not love, I don't know what is. Don't _ever_ say that I'm not serious, alright?"

Ed nodded, his face softening, and kissed Roy chastely. "I'm sorry, okay. It's just…" He shook his head. "Never mind." Before Roy could press the issue further, Ed kissed him again, this time lingering as he pressed against him, arms tangling around Roy's neck.

Roy's hands were warm and splayed against his sides, simply resting there, and his lips against Ed's in a simple kiss. Ed froze at the first touch, but Roy lifted his hand and brushed back a chunk of hair in a comforting, familiar gesture. All the tension melted out of the shorter man, his body relaxing against the other as his hands went to grip his shoulders. They parted from the gentle kiss and rested their foreheads against each other, breathing quietly.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, trying to hold back the natural progression of time through the use of mutual comfort. Little by little, Ed's arms unwound from their protective embrace around his middle, and he shifted to stand up straighter. Roy didn't move, just adjusted his arms. He allowed his eyes to close, his thoughts drifting somewhere safe and warm, his body unconsciously tightening around the man he held almost defensively against his chest. He rested his cheek against the other's soft hair, breathing in his scent. It was a quiet moment that was their own, and they drew in the silence as a cloak to shield them from reality as long as they could. A silent understanding passed between them, and they started for Roy's—no, _their_ room, hands intertwined.

Tonight, they weren't the Fuhrer and the Fullmetal Alchemist. Tonight, they weren't a former colonel and his insubordinate subordinate. Tonight, they weren't Edward Elric, big brother and researcher, and Roy Mustang, heartbreaking playboy and leader of a nation. Tonight, they were Ed and Roy, and this moment belonged to them and them only. The rest of the world could suck it.

Ed settled the palms on his hands on Roy's chest, heat seeping through the fabric. Roy felt shivers shoot like white-hot electricity down his spine and settle into smoldering embers beneath his navel. He cupped Ed's jaw lovingly in one hand, the other combing softly through his hair, and he kissed him, their lips molding together. He deepened the kiss, moving his hands to slip up the back of Ed's shirt, desperately seeking direct contact. He felt the unconscious flinch of the other man at his first touch upon his skin, and Roy waited until he felt the tense muscles relax. He wanted Ed to enjoy this; he wanted to wipe the memory of what happened away, or at least ease it. Edward had been so eager that day to get into Roy's pants, but now that he'd had time to think about it, he found himself nervous and anxious, unsure about how to proceed.

They parted, panting for breath, both understanding without the use of words what they were finally going to do. Roy freed one of his hands and cupped Ed's cheek, stroking the angle of the bone with his thumb as he tried to assuage his fears. Their relationship had always been more emotional than physical, and even the physical portion had stayed within certain boundaries. Roy had never wanted Ed to feel for even a second that he was demanding _anything,_ and he had always made sure that Ed knew it was _his choice,_ that if Roy did something Ed didn't like, to just tell him and he would stop without any questions. So far, that strategy had worked just fine for them, and the physical part of their relationship had never strayed beyond kissing and sleeping curled up together. They had never made the big jump, until now.

Ed swallowed thickly, his hands fisting Roy's shirt in an uneasy gesture. His eyes remained locked on Roy's, attempting to reassure himself that the hands on his bare skin wouldn't mark him with violent symbols of anger and prejudice, that they were capable of nothing but loving him. The hand gently stroking his face was solid and warm, the fingers clad in soft gloves that felt like silk against his skin despite their more sinister purpose.

Letting out a shaky breath, he broke his gaze and closed his eyes. He needed to break the poisonous connection. Roy was real. Ed had nothing to fear from him; he wanted this as much as Roy did, and he knew that there was nothing he should be afraid of. If Roy had wanted to hurt him, he would have already, and instead, Roy had been nothing but kind and understanding, a stable reassurance when Ed had been sure he would be swept away by the darkness inside. Roy had helped him forward, and he wanted desperately to take this final step. He wanted this connection as much as, if not more than, Roy did.

Besides the gentle motion of his hand, the dark-haired man remained still as he watched Ed's internal turmoil play out over his face, patiently waiting for the other to decide what he wanted. If Ed decided again that he wasn't ready for this, then Roy would back off, albeit disappointedly, and seek a cold shower to stop him from doing anything he might regret later.

When Ed finally looked at him again, his eyes were alive with a fire that flickered from the innermost depth of his heart, a fire that Roy hadn't seen in such a long time. Roy felt his heart lighten. He swooped down and captured Ed's mouth in a kiss again, soft and gentle as if they had all the time in the world. Ed gasped and tilted his head back as Roy's lips descended along his jawline and down his neck; he sucked in a sharp breath as the other lightly nipped the soft flesh at the junction.

Before they started pulling off clothes right then, Ed moved out of the embrace. He tugged Roy along to the foot of bed, pulling him down to sit on it heavily while he initiated a kiss. One of Roy's hands cupped the back of his neck, fingers playing with the strands of hair at the nape. Ed rested his arms on Roy's shoulders, crossing his forearms behind his neck; his human hand buried itself in the mop of soft, noir hair. The kiss deepened and blossomed, oxygen deprivation making their minds spin and the thrill filling them with heat from their heads to their toes.

When they parted, Ed reached down to tug anxiously at Roy's shirt, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. Roy shifted to ease off the shirt, removing Ed's in turn before the other could do it himself. Both were bunched into a ball and tossed off carelessly, neither bothering to see where they landed. Ed gently pushed Roy onto his back, his automail hand splayed over Roy's chest, and kneeling astride his hips. Roy allowed him to take over, content in his understanding of their dynamics within their relationship. Ed needed to do this, needed to take this step himself. There would be time enough for anything else later.

He shivered as Ed ran uncertain hands down his chest and stomach, fingers lingering with tentative curiosity on the lines muscle and bone cut into his figure. It was easy to tell the difference between the metal and the flesh; the automail was sharply cool against his heated skin, and it wasn't an unpleasant contrast—far from it. It was a struggle for the elder to reign in his responses, but he did what he could to let his partner take the first steps.

Ed bent to trail his lips up the centerline of Roy's torso, fingers ghosting against the other's sides. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the skin above his heart and the dip of the hollow of his throat. His ministrations become more confident as he explored. He understood the importance of Roy baring himself him so passively and not reacting, and he felt own arousal take over the spot originally filled with his fear.

Roy was unable to keep from winding his arms around Ed as he moved farther up his body, needing an anchor to keep himself from being swept away in the tide of ecstasy rising within him. He was aching with the need to arch himself into the man above him, to have friction, but he resisted. His breath was heavy with need, his chest hitching as he attempted to keep his reactions in line. He couldn't scare Ed away, not after all the progress they'd made.

Ed bent to kiss him soundly, halting the nervous stuttering in his heart and allowing it to beat strongly with passion. He held the other's face between his hands, lips pliant and warm, smiling against him as he let the wall he had built against this degree of intimacy crumble and lie in ruin. He felt the hard edges of the eyepatch covering shy of half Roy's face, and he opened his mouth to ask. Roy saved him the trouble by lifting a hand and pulling it off, tossing it aside.

Ed stared down at the mix-matched eyes, sparkling obsidian and foggy white, and hesitantly traced the scar splitting Roy's face. Every time Roy looked at the knotted, shiny scar tissue that crept across his face, dipping into the cauterized empty socket, his stomach twisted and he was almost sick. But Ed, Ed only leaned down and kissed the ruined flesh, cupped Roy's face in his hand. They both had their scars, Ed couldn't forget that. These past few months had been about healing for both of them, not just Ed.

He moved off of Roy to lie at his side, pulling on the other's arm in a signal that he was okay. Roy didn't move right away to straddle him. He turned to face Ed, taking his face in his face and kissing his troubled face sweetly before moving to shift on top of him. Ed was trembling, the internal fight between reality and memory an uphill one. However, he let himself run his fingers along the scapula of Roy's shoulders, feeling the muscles and sinew shift as he molded against him.

Roy's hands were firm as they smoothed down the lines of his body, coming to reach the hem of his slacks. The older man paused, looking up into golden eyes. "Are you sure?" he asked, and Ed knew that if he shook his head, if he wanted to stop it now, Roy would back off and they would wait for another time. If Ed wasn't ready to give himself to Roy completely, then that was it.

He pulled Roy into a searing kiss. "I want this," he breathed when they broke apart. "Please, I want this."

Deft fingers unbuttoned and pulled down the zipper before Ed realized it. He arched his hips up, groaning at the friction he gained against the other man as both his pants and boxers were pulled off and thrown aside. Roy sat on his haunches as he undid his slacks, pulling them down and carelessly tossing them away.

Sparks erupting behind their eyes as skin met skin, and fire was racing through his veins as fast as any poison. They let themselves fall into oblivion within the others' embrace. Roy buried his hands in flyaway hair, lips taking in and imprinting every texture and taste of Ed's skin. He was intoxicated by his scent, by the feel of his body writhing with desire beneath him. The hands on his back kept him from pulling away, blunt nails leaving behind lines of red. Ed's automail hand was fisted in the bedding; he was always careful not to hurt Roy on accident—his automail could punch through rock, he didn't want to imagine what it could do to bone and muscle during a heated frenzy.

Ed was flushed from his chest all the way up to his ears, his eyes shut tightly. Roy kept his gaze on Ed's face, documenting every expression, every sound, every movement he made. All of it—the sound of his hitching breath, the crimson flush in his sunkissed skin, the jumping of muscles as he allowed him to lead him into bliss—made Roy's blood boil in a good way. Oh yes, in a very good way.

For Ed, the knowledge that the man cradling him wasn't capable of treating him as anything less than an equal allowed him to feel pleasure in an act that had before been used as a means of control. Roy would never hurt him, would never betray him, would never make him do anything he didn't want to. Roy would never push him.

"Roy," he murmured, opening molten eyes full of love and lust to fix on the man leaning over him.

Roy kissed him soundly, tongue caressing his own as he hummed in content. He rolled his hips lazily, Ed moaning low in his throat at the sensation. He spread his legs wider as Roy ran a hand down to his erection, palming it. He broke the kiss and let his head fall back as white-hot heat engulfed him. The intensity was almost painful, and it shocked him. It had been so long since he had been touched; this was the first time with Roy, and his body ached at the perfection of it.

Roy seemed to intuitively know exactly what to do to drive the blond insane. Each stroke infused his entire body with rapture, the skillful fingers focused only on bringing him pleasure. Ed's breaths were coming in shallow pants, his thin chest heaving with the waves of untainted ecstasy coursing powerfully through his veins. Roy was pressing kisses down the side of his throat, nipping and biting playfully at the pale skin. Ed could do nothing but clutch at the other man as his orgasm swept him beyond all thought, his mind and body surrounded by the comfort of oblivion as he let go of all his earthly reservations.

When he came back, he was breathless. Fireworks like the ones he'd seen in Germany still exploded beyond his shut eyelids, and he could feel a soft hand stroking the side of his face. He leaned into it, letting it cradle his cheek as he opened his eyes, aftershocks still coursing through his body.

Roy's face was calm despite the color adorning his cheeks. His eye was critically taking in Ed's face, and the man in question couldn't help but feel his heart swell. He loosened his arm from its death grip around the other's neck, smiling as he pulled him down into a tender kiss. His body felt relaxed from tension for the first time in way too long, his mind sated and blurry with happiness. "Thank you," he murmured, "thankyouthankyouthankyou."

Ed shifted his feet to rest against the mattress, his legs now embracing the man snugly between them. Roy hummed softly, his free hand moving to run down the length of Ed's trembling thigh. The kiss slowed and ceased, Roy brushing his lips along his jaw before burying his face into the crook of his neck. His fingers moved to prepare the other man, feeling his willpower waning.

Ed jumped with surprise and yelped when the first finger breached him, wiggling in discomfort. Roy kissed his neck and whispered apologies, and let Ed adjust before moving it. He searched for that magic spot, because as wonderful as it was to listen to Ed moan, he wanted to find the bundle of nerves that would turn him into a writhing, begging mess. He crooked his finger, and Ed sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes going wide, his body arching up against Roy, his new lover's name spilling out over his lips: "Oh, Roy, Roy, Royroyroy _ROY_!"

Roy grinned into Ed's neck, and added a second finger. Edward squirmed with pleasure, tilting his head back and moaning. Roy built up a steady rhythm, alternating between thrusting and crooking, synchronizing his movements with suckling and biting Ed's neck. Ed groaned long and deep when Roy added a third finger, and pushed back against it, tossing his head back. With a quick nip to Ed's lower lip, Roy's hand was gone and something _else_ was there instead.

Flames of raw fire licked up Roy's spine as he slowly pushed in, a low groan erupting from his throat as he was overwhelmed. It was utter precision the way they fit together; it was almost as if they had been created from the beginning to complement the other. Their hearts stopped and restarted in tandem the instant they connected. Roy waited until Ed nodded before moving, and then they were moving together.

They rocked in a rhythm of their own making, entwined and united in mind, body, and spirit for the first time. Strength flowed from them, the poison of their reality fading away to nothingness, and light drove them from their hiding places. It was cathartic, this act of giving and taking so completely. They were healing and reinforcing their spirits from within as they gave themselves to each other. There was absolutely nothing that could compare.

They lay together long after, breaths slowing and quieting within the bright room. Ed's head was resting on Roy's shoulder, his human hand laying upon Roy's bare chest, the steady thumping of his heart beating against his fingertips. They fell asleep like that, legs tangled together and holding each other in a lovers' embrace. After five years, after everything that had been thrown at them, they had each other, and one way or another they would find a way to make it work.


	7. Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Havoc eats his foot and our boys make out.

They lay together long after, breaths slowing and quieting within the bright room. Ed's head was resting on Roy's shoulder, his human hand laying upon Roy's bare chest, the steady thumping of his heart beating against his fingertips. They fell asleep like that, legs tangled together and holding each other in a lovers' embrace. After five years and so many months, after everything that had been thrown at them, they had each other, and one way or another they would find a way to make it work.

For the first time since the Nazi soldiers had stormed the small apartment he shared with Alfons Heiderich in Munich and taken him to the concentration camp, Ed's dreams weren't haunted with images of pale fanged scientists stabbing down at him with bloodied blades, pedophilic soldiers looming over him and reaching for him, and the sickly, dying Alfons he left behind. His sleep was unfettered by horrifying memories; it wasn't blood and pain and nightmares. It was light and peace and the feeling of being loved and being safe.

For the first time, he wasn't afraid that when he woke up, his reality would be worse than his nightmares, because he knew that it couldn't possible get any better. Even in his sleep, he could feel the arms around him, holding him close—strong, reassuring, and promising protection. He could sense the closeness of the other body, the warmth and security of having another person holding him and knowing that they wouldn't hurt him.

**XXXXXX**

"So, Havoc," Ed asked gleefully, looking at his friend over the table, "what's _your_ New Year's resolution?"

Havoc tossed back another shot and said, "To find a girlfriend who won't ditch me."

This led to snickers and jibes all around. "Hey, at least now I don't have to worry about Mustang stealin' 'em! He's got his own—" Havoc started, flushing and cutting himself off before he could dig his own grave any deeper.

"Oh no," Ed drawled when Havoc didn't continue, "please, _finish._ " Something dangerous flashed in his eyes and Havoc apparently thought better of it, because instead of completing his thought, he grabbed another shot off the table and downed it, looking anywhere _but_ at the amused Fullmetal Alchemist.

Ed decided to let the slight to his and Roy's honor go when Hawkeye popped up beside the second lieutenant, gun and eyebrow cocked. Edward was wandering away farther into the party when he heard in his ears, "Yes, Lieutenant, what were you saying?"

Ed passed through the crowd like a golden phantom, drifting through the crowd of off-duty officers, soldiers, and alchemists, calling out greetings and laughing. He scanned the people, looking for the tall, dark figure of his lover; Roy was nowhere to be seen, and Ed had an idea where he might be. He skirted around the crowd and continued on his way up two flights of stairs and out onto the roof.

A man was standing there, a black blot against the dreary sky and silver snow. Ed trudged through the snow, pulling his coat tighter around him against the cold; he loved winter, loved the snow and the feeling of cheer that inevitable overtook the city, but he could do without the cold. The subzero temperatures made his joints ache and his limbs heavy.

"Oi, Mustang!" he called, "why aren't you downstairs with the other uniforms? It's fuckin' freezing up here!"

Roy turned and looked down at him. "You didn't have to come up here, you know," he said, his dark eye taking in the sight of his young love stalking towards him. Snowflakes fell around him like how own personal whirlwind, landing in his hair and on his coat—that long, brown coat he was so fond of.

Ed shrugged, brushing snow off his shoulders. "Yeah, but then you'd stand out here like a bloody git until you caught a cold, and I certainly have no intention of dealing with you when you're cranky," he grumbled.

Roy smirked, wrapping an arm around Ed and pulling him flush against him; Ed welcomed the warmth, his arms snaking around Roy's back under the trench coat. Roy nuzzled his hair. "Mmm," he hummed. "You know, I don't think anyone will miss us if we decide to abandon ship and head home early."

"Oh?" Ed questioned innocently, looking up at his lover in mock obliviousness. "And what would we do then? I mean, there's still an hour 'till midnight. How would we possibly pass the time?"

Roy grinned and purred, "I can think of a few things to keep us occupied." He captured Ed's mouth in a kiss, holding the blond in an embrace full of love and the possibility for the future.

_"SAY CHEESE!"_

_FLASH!_

They jumped apart, whirling to watch the coattails of a jacket and two sets of boots disappear around the corner along with three incriminating shadows. Ed growled low in his throat, hackles rising. Roy chuckled and shook his head, wrapping his arms around Ed's waist and pulling him back against his chest. "Leave them be, Edo," he murmured into Ed's hair. "It's New Year's Eve, let the kids have their fun."

Ed scowled but didn't object when Roy turned him around and drew him into another kiss. He looped his arms around Roy's neck and tilted his head for better access. They stood there under the snow and held each other, taking comfort in slow, lingering kisses and sharing body warmth. They'd faced hell and made it through together, and now they had a future.

After all, it was a brave new world.

**XXXXXX**

Ed started out on this path broken and damaged, falling down a sinkhole of depression and self-loathing so deep he couldn't even imagine there being a bottom. All he'd wanted was to return home to Amestris, see what Al had become for himself, and then end it. He'd wanted desperately to end the pain, the guilt, the hatred—he just wanted it to all stop. He wanted peace at last. He wanted to drift away and leave all his emotional baggage behind as he fell into peaceful, final oblivion.

He'd wanted peace, and he'd found it in the last place he'd expected. Back in the camp, he'd have never imagined—not in his wildest dreams—that a childhood crush would save his life. He'd have never dreamed that his savior, that his knight in full-on military armor, would come in a man who'd used to drive him up the wall. How could he have imagined that the heart he'd lost long ago would be found with the last person he'd have suspected?

He'd never have guessed that Roy Mustang would be his salvation.


End file.
